


You're the One, You're All I Ever Wanted (I Think I'll Regret This)

by thehoundisdead



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, i guess?? dunno i wrote this in one sitting i was just Feeling it, tiny wee bit of, truly could not think of a title so here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoundisdead/pseuds/thehoundisdead
Summary: Boris, Theo finds, is easy to compare to art when he's around, when he's not doing things like stealing famous paintings and replacing them with textbooks.Or, Boris comes back again and again to fix things in more ways than one.Title from Your Best American Girl by Mitski
Relationships: Theodore Decker & James "Hobie" Hobart, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 30
Kudos: 235





	You're the One, You're All I Ever Wanted (I Think I'll Regret This)

“I don’t expect you to know what it feels like to be in love with the wrong person,” Kitsey says in a tone far too nice for how condescending her words are but they don’t hurt; none of this has any _bite_ to it because he was never in love with her, he’s not even sure he ever really _liked_ her to begin with. He just wanted to carve his own place into the Barbour’s lives, to nestle in like maybe he belongs there but he doesn’t, never did really, even when he was a gangly kid staring morosely at bowls of ice cream and candy, just an interloper invited to stay too long. 

Still, the words make him want to snort, but he thinks better of it even as his mind flashes to tufts of dark curls and long eyelashes and hands always reaching out, ready to catch him whenever he began to waver. Instead, he just nods and half listens as Kitsey describes their future life, a life that sounds terrible and always empty, always yearning for something else, for _someone_ else. And when that’s all over, he leaves without another word, accepting the bland, stale days that lay ahead of him, the one’s Kitsey has envisioned tinted rose pretty pink, as if happiness and foolery on the edges of life could ever truly be enough for either of them. 

He took Conversational Russian in college. Because it reminded him of a past life, reminded him of the possibility of a future one, because he already knew how to curse, what more could there be to learn? Because even after all these years his heart still thumps erratically, drugged out, calling for someone who’s long forgotten him. _Bo-ris, Boris, Bo-r-is._

As his feet scuff against the doorway of Kitsey’s apartment, he catches himself thinking _if Boris were here..._ An old line of thought he long since should have ended, but Boris was strange and terrible and wonderful and completely all consuming. 

_If Boris were here,_ his mind whispers as he watches his feet walk down the hallway to the elevator, _he’d never let this happen. Because Boris cannot be loved on the side, an infrequent fairytale to be trespassed on, because Boris is boisterous and nonsensical and enough._

 _It would be enough,_ Theo thinks, fingers pressing shakily against the dirty elevator button, to take him down further and further until he stumbles out onto the bottom floor, _if I just had Boris._

~*-*~

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Theo feels himself saying, revelling in the smile that earns him. 

“Do you know what I did in college?” he asks before he can stop himself, because he needs Boris to know, needs him to know that even though he never came, there was always a part of him still with Theo, one that Theo has dragged around with him ever since he got in that cab all those years ago, “Conversational Russian. Because of you. Used to make me think of you.” 

Boris looks at him with the softest eyes Theo has ever seen and lets out this shaky little breath and Theo wonders to himself, _does he feel as raw as I am?_ And then Boris is apologizing and Theo hates that because Boris is here now and maybe, this time, Theo can convince him to stay. 

“Are you happy?” Boris asks and for once in his life Theo wants to tell the truth. 

“Not very.”

“A girl?” Boris asks and his eyes are sad, so sad and Theo just wants to know if they’re sad for the same reason his own heart's beating wild. 

“Look it’s not that...it’s complicated,” he says, suddenly wishing he’d done his life differently up until this point, “Look, I don’t know why I’m telling you this but I’m engaged to be married. But I saw her kissing another guy. Old friend of mine. Tom Cable.” 

Boris goes from nodding sympathetically to fiery fury in a half second flat, angrily demanding, “The asshole with the cigarette, when you were a kid?

“And you love her,” Boris says, a statement where a question should be, “But not too much, I think.”

“It’s complicated,” Theo finds himself saying, embarrassed, eyes landing on the table beneath Boris’ hands. 

“There’s someone else?” Boris asks and Theo wants to grab him, to shout _yes! There’s always_ been _someone else, you, you fool._

Instead he laughs and says, “Alright, enough of this. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s get a taxi.” 

And then they’re in the backseat of Boris’ car, and Boris has a fucking _driver_ and he’s giggling so happily and lining up drugs that Theo shouldn’t take but he does, he _always_ does with Boris and then-

And then Boris is ruining the night and Theo can’t _breathe_ and he’s rolling out of the car and running, he’s always running and-

How could Boris do this to him?

~*-*~

There is an engagement party that feels distant, hollow, like attending a function for someone he does not know instead of his own. He smiles at the right people and pretends seeing Pippa doesn’t make him ache, because she too is a promise at a different life, at belonging. And though a part of him loves her, he understands when she says they would never work, he knows it as truth somewhere deep inside and maybe not for the reasons she said, maybe because he will always ache for someone who is not there. 

Except he is here. 

Smiling his way into the party, boots clicking as he walks, confident and wild up to Theo and it’s _wrong_ to have him here, for him to mingle at the celebration of Theo marrying someone _else._ He wants to pull Boris aside, to demand he leave because Theo does not want to see him smile and clap and say things like _“congratulations on wedding, Potter, so happy for you,”_ because Theo doesn’t _want_ Boris to be happy for him, not about this. 

He thinks of Kotku, how unfairly he’d hated her the second her name left Boris’ lips, because Boris was supposed to sleep curled around _him_ , was supposed to mumble _his_ name when he woke and he knows, deep in his soul, that there is no universe where Theo was happy for Boris in that moment, so in turn he doesn’t want Boris to be happy for _him_ now. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue when Boris pulls him aside. He’s going to say, _look you have to leave._ He’ll tell Boris, _we don’t even know each other anymore. We’re not friends. You can’t be here._ He’s going to remind Boris that he’s furious with him, _I can’t even look at you,_ he’ll say and _mean_ it because Boris is a betrayer, a liar, a thief and altogether too beautiful and too far away for Theo to see. 

But Boris beats him to the punch, saying in a voice too close to sarcasm for Theo’s liking, “Go tell your lovely lady that you have to leave.” 

“What are you doing here?” he thunders as much as he can in a polite party-whisper, enough to make sure Boris knows his mere presence leaves a sting of rage inside of Theo. By the serious look on his face, he’s pretty sure Boris understands. 

“I have a ticket for you, but we must go now,” Boris nods, moving his hand slowly to swirl his drink.

“Where?”

“Amsterdam,” he says, as if that’s an answer, as if that explains his presence, his theft, as if it makes up for the silence that has lived inside Theo for the last decade. 

“Why the fuck would I go to Amsterdam?” Theo feels himself asking and though he’s still angry, so angry he thinks the livewire veins in his fingers might burst with it, he can already feel his resolve crumbling. _Yes,_ his heart says, stupid and wanting the way it always has been, _leave with him._

“Because you want it back,” Boris says and stares at him for too long and before he’s even taken a final sip from his drink and fled the room, Theo has already decided to follow him. He’s always had problems telling Boris no. 

~*-*~

Everything is quick and stupid after that. Boris’ plan is shit, as he explains about a German art thief named Sascha and that Theo will be the American buyer and it’s all overwhelming and Theo knows he can’t do this but- 

“I am going to do this. I am going to make everything right,” Boris says with an unmatched intensity, fingers twitching like he wants to grab hold of Theo and drag him closer. And Theo is desperate, _aches_ to believe him. 

And yet he remains wholly unsurprised when everything goes to shit. 

One minute Theo has his own forehead pressed against Boris’ and the next it’s the warm barrel of a gun while some asshole is saying, “Merry Christmas.” 

(In the back of his mind, Theo thinks about that line. About how terrible it is. _From a fucking C minus action movie,_ he thinks while he looks at the man who obviously thinks so highly of himself.)

Boris holds onto the briefcase tighter than he should, than anyone with any sense of self preservation would, but then he’s looking at Theo with _I’m sorry_ eyes and letting the handle slip through his fingers and it’s devastating, heartbreaking to see it ease away from them just like that, but then the man is jerking his gun to the side, looking at Boris when he says, “Do it over there,” and Theo could swear his heart stops. 

Theo has lost so many people. He’s already lost Boris once. 

His gaze flickers over to Boris, to look at him one last time before this is all over and is surprised to see a severe lack of worry on his face. No, not worried, but twisted up in a feral rage, pale skin shadowed sharp by the darkness of the garage. He looks like a Gentileschi like this, all violence and brutality but maybe they’re not the winners here, no, maybe the man is Judith and Boris is Holofernes and-

He doesn’t get to finish that worry because then Boris is all action, throwing his cigarette in the man’s eyes and grabbing his gun before Theo can register and he’s shooting, taking the henchman down and then the main guy and he might make it, this might be okay-

And then Boris himself is shot, twisting around violently as he falls, and Theo can’t breathe. He sees Boris wriggling around on the ground, sees the man gasping to sit up, sees the kid run off with the briefcase and he could chase him, he could get it back, he could-

But the man is grabbing his gun and there’s no doubt in Theo’s mind of what he intends to do with it so he grabs at the fallen gun, feels it’s heavy weight in his own hands and he knows it’s him or us, him or Boris so he pulls the trigger and tells himself not to regret it. 

~*-*~

The rest of the day is hazy and drugged out, chased down with the burn of vodka. 

~*-*~

Until Boris’ panicked breath and firm grip drag him from the bed, drag everything out of him and then out of the room, down the hallway and out into the snow. _He hates the cold,_ Theo thinks blearily to himself, _He hates the cold but he’s here with me._

The world comes back to him slowly. He’s sick and gone and then he’s not; he’s sitting on an uncomfortable chair watching Boris laugh over coffee as he explains and the words aren’t even out yet when Theo feels the tears begin to well up behind his eyelids. 

Because Boris is here, the painting is safe and Boris is _here._

Boris tells him about fate and it’s not true it’s not _true,_ he just wants Theo to feel better about doing bad things but maybe, maybe...

Maybe it’s fate that they met. Maybe it’s fate that Boris is here now, sitting so close to Theo, one hand warm on Theo’s arm like it’s meant to be there. 

~*-*~

He doesn’t see Boris after that and he’s not altogether sure he wants to. Boris brings nothing but trouble and heartache and Theo will never be able to just _stop_ around him. Boris spins his world at double speed every time he is near. 

He breaks it off with Kitsey, tells her to stop worrying about what she _should_ do and to just be with her stupid boyfriend. And then he goes cold turkey sober, ghosting around his apartment with bare feet and vomiting everywhere. He lays, sweating and shivering at the same time on his couch, watching mindless TV that hurts his head but distracts him from the swirling going on in his stomach. 

_It’ll be worth it,_ he thinks to himself, hopes, while Popchyk follows his every move with anxious little footsteps. 

Boris does not call. 

Theo’s not sure he’d answer even if he did. 

~*-*~

A month, two, passes and Theo is reasonably sure he will never see Boris again. A debt repaid, a right wronged, a lesson learned and Boris will never have to think of him again. Theo can focus on filling the Boris shaped hole left in his chest, burned at the edges and sharp to think about. 

He’s got Popchyk on his leash, coming back in from their afternoon walk when he’s stopped dead in his tracks. Because there, leaned heavy and pale against his door is Boris. Boris in tight jeans and leather boots, smiling lopsided when he sees Theo.

“Potter!” he calls like maybe Theo hasn’t noticed him and then drops to his knees, “Popchyk!” 

The dog runs up to Boris without any hesitation like maybe he remembers Boris, maybe he remembers sleeping on Boris’ feet every night, maybe he remembers when Theo was a different kind of broken and a different kind of whole. 

“I have missed you, little friend,” Boris is saying into Popchyk’s fur, scratching gently behind his ears. Then he looks up at Theo where he still stands frozen in the middle of the hall, “Glad you were just with Popchyk, was worried you were ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you?” Theo asks, finally taking steps closer, feeling around the inside of his pocket for his keys. 

“Refusing to come to the door,” Boris nods, now standing with Popchyk in his arms, “Thought I might have to break in.” 

“You can’t, you can’t _break in,”_ Theo snaps at him, head suddenly feeling foggy, like it's filled with cotton balls instead of a brain. 

“Well, I don’t need to now,” Boris agrees easily enough, nodding at Theo’s hand, “Are you going to open door or are we spending the night out here?” 

Theo could argue, he could tell Boris to give him his dog and get out. But as he unlocks the door he finds himself stepping aside, allowing enough room for Boris to slip inside behind him. He watches Boris dance around the room with Popchyk in his arms and finally thinks to ask, “How did you know where I live.”

Boris waves him off like this is highly unimportant, setting Popchyk down to run around his feet, “Keeping tabs and all that.”

“You kept tabs on me?” Theo asks and though he’s not the one revealing anything, he feels entirely caught out by this conversation. Boris just looks at him, arching one eyebrow and taking a step closer, nodding softly like this should be obvious, “Why?”

“You are important,” Boris says, like it’s easy. 

~*-*~

“I don’t have a guest room,” Theo announces, watching Boris place his single bag down gently next to the sofa. 

“Is fine,” Boris waves off, one hand reaching down to press into the couch, to test it. 

“The couch isn’t very comfortable,” Theo says and even he isn’t sure what his goal is because in truth he doesn’t want Boris to leave, he never wants Boris to leave and yet he finds himself saying, “And sometimes it gets loud out here, city that never sleeps.”

“City noises, bad sofa, is no problem for me,” Boris nods again and looks at Theo with those wide, wide eyes, the ones that have always made his skin feel just a few degrees too warm. 

“Okay,” he nods and bites his lip at the expression on Boris’ face when he finally takes a seat on the awful, awful couch. 

~*-*~

It’s 2AM and Theo can hear Boris shuffling around in his family room. He’d covered the couch in an extra sheet, brought Boris a pillow and blanket and bid him goodnight because Theo doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t know what Boris is after and he’s afraid if he opens himself up too much Boris will be gone in the morning. 

But he can hear Boris fumbling around again on the couch, landing with a loud thump and Theo _knows_ how uncomfortable it is, really only bought it because Pippa had said _Theo, you work with furniture all day and you don’t even have a sofa?_

At the third loud sigh, Theo decides he’s had enough. Throwing the blankets off, he pads out into the family room, opening the door quietly in the darkness. Boris has his back to him, pale skin on full display, lit up by street lights that stream in through the curtains that hang over Theo’s window. 

“Boris,” Theo whispers, though he knows its his house and they’re the only ones there. Boris turns slow, like he’s not sure he actually heard anything but then he’s sitting up, rubbing his eye roughly as he takes in Theo’s nearly hidden figure by the door. 

“Potter?” he asks, voice a little rougher than normal, “Everything is okay?”

“Come to bed,” is all he says in response, opening his bedroom door just a little wider. Boris stays quiet long enough for Theo to second guess himself though, Theo supposes, that doesn’t take very long in general. 

“Like when we were kids, yes?” Boris finally asks and pushes himself up and away from his spot on the sofa. 

Theo finds himself nodding, watching Boris walk closer and closer until he is only a breath away and then he’s leading him to the bed, mumbling _this is my side_ and feeling Boris climb in next to him.

~*-*~

He wakes at 8AM with Boris wrapped around his back, nose nudging against his neck and thinks _yes, just like when we were kids._

~*-*~

“I have to work,” Theo says over his coffee, “If I had known you were coming...” but he trails off because he doesn’t know what he would have done. Run, maybe. 

“Is fine,” Boris nods over his own drink, tea, boiling hot with three sugars, “I have business to attend to anyways.”

“Business?”

“Yes,” Boris nods, quirking an eyebrow, “Why do you think I am in New York?”

 _Me,_ Theo thinks immediately and then chastises himself for the ridiculousness of it. Of course Boris is not there for him, “I don’t know what you do.”

“This, that, whatever,” Boris mumbles then jerks up, smiling wide at Theo, “What do you want for dinner?”

“What, like you cook?” Theo laughs, trying to hold back his grin at the look of mock offense on Boris’ face. 

“I am fantastic cook!” he points at Theo, “You remember! My chicken was delicious, no?”

Theo _does_ remember that dinner, remembers that it _was_ good. He also remembers being high out of his mind and drunk on beer, remembers throwing it all up at the end of the night, too. Still, he nods and rolls his eyes at the self satisfied smirk on Boris’ face, “Sure, why not.” 

“You will regret ever slandering my name, Potter, just you wait.” 

~*-*~

Theo can’t stop looking over his shoulder, little tendrils of fear rolling through him every time the shop door opens. He’s afraid that when he gets home Boris will be gone gone, waltzing out of his life without a trace yet again. He’s also terrified Boris will decide to stroll in here. 

The thing is-

The thing is. Logically, Theo knows if he told Hobie he’d be nothing but understanding. Hobie would never judge him for being, for being _gay_ , he’s even thought about telling him a few times but... The words always clam up in his throat and he can’t get them out and he knows, he _knows_ if Boris were to show up here, if Hobie were to see them together, he’d know. The charade would be over. 

But Boris doesn’t show and Theo is grateful all the way home until he gets to his door and hears no commotion inside and thinks _oh._ Maybe he did leave. 

But unlocking the door unlocks the smell of cooking spices and now, as he kicks his shoes off in the doorway, he can hear Boris humming to himself in the kitchen where he stands over the stove. 

“You’re here,” Theo can’t stop himself from mumbling, ~~_marveling,_~~ but Boris merely turns around with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes?” he says, “Told you I was going to make fantastic meal.”

“I thought...” 

“You thought wrong, Potter,” Boris finishes for him, “I can’t leave the city until I finish business, might as well stay with you, yes?”

“I guess...” 

“Good, it is settled then,” Boris nods to himself, continuing to stir whatever food he’s making, “Now, grab dishes. How hungry are you?”

~*-*~

That night, Boris doesn’t need to be asked to come to bed and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself up in Theo like he had the night before. He just throws a leg over Theo’s waist, an arm over his shoulders and presses his face into Theo’s neck, nose drawing gentle circles there every once in a while. It was always too easy for them to fall back into this rhythm, wrapped around each other, broken pieces stitched together. 

He’s shirtless again, maybe he didn’t bring any sleep shirts or maybe he’s just grown accustomed to sleeping without one but Theo doesn’t complain. He draws shapes into the pale skin of Boris’ back, watching the light, the way Boris’ creamy ivory skin is lit up by the moon, the only light in the whole room, standing out stark against the darkness that surrounds them. 

_Chiaroscuro,_ he can hear in his mother’s voice, remembers the way she spoke of it in Caravaggio and Vermeer and he didn’t understand the reverence in her voice, not until now as he watches the light play on Boris’ skin. 

He doesn’t know how long he’ll get Boris this time so he promises himself he’ll take everything in, remember the way he looked in every light, in every room, remember every freckle and mark and worry the scar on his shoulder until his fingers have memorized every detail. 

~*-*~

The thing is, Boris doesn’t leave. 

He goes out for the day, sure, (except on Theo’s day off. Then he hangs around the apartment and smiles wide and teases Theo and cuddles Popchyk and says things like _we should stay inside, watch movie, yes?_ ) but he always, always comes home for dinner. 

It’s been two months and every day Theo comes home from work expecting to see him gone, no note or phone number to call but here he is, laying flat on Theo’s couch with Popchyk curled up asleep on his chest. His clothes are unpacked and hanging in Theo’s closet, he has his own toothbrush and hairbrush and his shoes are lined up alongside Theo’s. 

If Theo weren’t afraid to hope, he’d say they were officially living together. 

But he is afraid, so he says nothing. 

“We should get a new couch,” Boris says without looking up when he hears Theo walk inside, “This one is terrible.”

“I told you it was bad,” Theo replies, picking up Boris’ feet so he can sit down, pretending to be disgusted when Boris slides them onto Theo’s lap. 

“Yes,” Boris agrees, one hand slowing petting Popchyk again and again, “So I’m thinking, I go out, I get new one, bam! No more terrible couch.”

 _You don’t live here,_ Theo wants to say, mostly so he can hear Boris deny it. Instead he shrugs and says, “Don’t get anything crazy.”

“Me? Crazy?” Boris asks, hand resting over his heart, “It’s like you don’t know me at all, Potter.”

~*-*~

It’s a Tuesday morning and Boris must be busy because he’s up and ready to go before Theo, a small miracle if Theo’s being honest. He rushes around the room, grabbing his things in a whirlwind, boots clicking heavy against the floors. He’s singing to himself, in Ukranian Theo is pretty sure, mostly he’s just watching from the kitchen where he’s drinking his coffee. 

Boris finally stops, looks around the room to make sure he’s got everything and then looks up, almost surprised, “Ah! Almost forgot.” 

Then, he’s striding towards Theo with a purpose, with confidence, and before Theo really knows what’s going on there’s two hands on his face, pulling him down to meet chapped lips in a slow, chaste kiss. Boris pulls away, just enough to rest their foreheads together, leaning his nose in to brush softly against Theo’s and says, “Have a good day at work, _zolotse.”_

And then he’s gone, leaving Theo to guess and second guess what the fuck just happened. 

~*-*~

He walks around the shop in a haze, brings Hobie a sandwich at lunch and he must seem off because Hobie stops him with a hand on his shoulder and says, “Theo? What’s wrong?” 

“I...there’s,” Theo starts, fighting himself. He could tell Hobie, really tell him everything but then Hobie would _know. But maybe,_ his brain whispers, _that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,_ “There’s someone.”

“Someone?”

“I met someone,” he says in a rush, looking down to avoid Hobie’s surprised gaze. 

“Yeah?” Hobie asks, with this little encouraging smile, “How is she?”

“He...he is good,” Theo whispers, looking up at Hobie through his eyelashes, scared for the worst but Hobie just smiles and claps his shoulder. 

“That’s good,” Hobie nods. 

“It’s well, it’s not _like that,”_ Theo bites out, a combination of wanting to shout _i’m not gay!_ And, well, because he _wants_ it to be like that, “But...but I think it might be.”

“What do you mean?” Hobie asks, and he’s not trying to pry just offers a listening ear for Theo to work this out. 

“We were, when we were kids, kind of, but then he was gone and now, now he’s back and, and it _hasn’t_ been like that but this morning, he, he kissed me and-”

“Boris,” Hobie says, and this time his voice is a little lower, face a little harder and Theo _knows_ he’s thinking about the painting, about all the trouble Theo and Boris got themselves into. 

“It’s not like that! Not anymore!” Theo shouts, waving his arms half-frantic, “He’s good, Hobie, he’s always been good to me but now, he’s, he’s just, he’s _so_ good.” 

“No more theft? Lying? Drugs?” Hobie asks, looking at Theo very seriously. 

“No, no,” Theo shakes his head, “It’s not like that anymore, he...he makes me dinner and watches Popchyk and...” _and holds me close at night and calms me down when I’m panicking and he kissed me this morning and all I want to do is chase him down._

“Well,” Hobie says, and Theo can tell by his tone that he’s still a little wary, “If you’re sure.” 

“I’m, I’m _not_ sure,” Theo says miserably, “I can’t remember the last time I was sure about anything.” 

“Theo...”

“But,” Theo begins, “But I know I want him there with me, all the time.”

“Well,” Hobie smiles, “That’s a start.”

~*-*~

When he gets home, they don’t talk about it because Theo has never been good at talking about _anything._ But things change, in little ways. Boris takes every opportunity to touch Theo, a hand on the small of his back while he walks by, a kiss behind his ear at night when they lay in bed, grabbing Theo’s hand to drag him around, sitting too close when they watch movies on their new and improved couch.

And Theo... Theo leans in to kiss Boris every morning before he leaves for work and every day when he gets home and every night and every time he feels like it. They’re unheated, unhurried, just about being close, about feeling Boris’ lips under his own, about seeing the way his eyes light up when he pulls away. 

The longer it goes on, the more Theo starts to think that yeah, maybe it is like that.

~*-*~

It’s strange, like once the floodgates are opened on Boris, Theo can’t _stop_ talking about him. Over lunch he tells Hobie about how Boris danced around the room with Popchyk the night before, about how he likes to terribly croon Polish songs, loud and uncaring, about how sometimes he climbs into bed with Theo with a book that he reads out loud, offering his own commentary on the character’s choices. 

(“Oh my god, Boris, just read the damn book,” Theo had whined, letting his head drop back against their headboard. 

“Am just saying!” Boris had half shouted, half laughed, “He is afraid of _werewolves?_ All other friends have deep fears and he is afraid of something not even real, makes no sense.” 

“I can’t believe _this_ is your biggest problem with this book so far,” Theo laughed, his fingers trailing against Boris’ naked arm because he gets to _touch._

“What? The rest I can excuse because of drugs, make poor decisions, we know this, but _werewolves?_ Is where I draw the line.”

“Oh my god,” Theo whined again while Boris took the opportunity to shove his face against Theo’s neck, trailing tiny, gentle kisses along the skin there and suddenly Theo hadn’t felt like complaining anymore.) 

He even tells Pippa on the phone, tells her so much about Boris she starts to laugh at his antics too saying, “I feel like I know him already.” 

“Yeah,” Theo had mumbled, smiling, embarrassed, cheeks red, “You’ll meet him one day.” and he’s not sure where that certainty had come from but he hopes. He hopes it’s true. 

~*-*~

Four months and Boris still has not been to the shop. Until now, when he comes bursting in, announcing to the (thankfully) empty store, “Potter, I brought you lunch and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

“Boris?” he asks, leaving his papers on the counter to meet him halfway, “What are you doing here?” 

“What does it look like? I wanted Thai food, did not want to enjoy it alone, here we are,” he says, holding up the bags of food like this explains everything, “Go and get your friend, I brought him some too.”

“You brought lunch for Hobie?” Theo asks dumbly, something inside him quaking a little. 

“Yes? Was not going to eat right in front of him and not offer him any, I’m not an animal,” Boris says impatiently, setting the bags down on the counter. Theo checks his watch, one o’clock, around the time he normally eats lunch anyways, so he locks up and brings Boris down to meet Hobie. 

“You want me to go down there?” Boris asks when Theo drags him to the stairs that lead to Hobie’s workshop.

“That’s where the workshop is.”

“Is creepy,” Boris looks between the stairs and Theo, one eyebrow raised distrustfully. 

“It’s not creepy!” 

“Whatever you say, Potter. You go first,” Boris demanded while Theo just rolled his eyes and took the lead.

“Hobie?” he called out as he descended the stairs, Boris close behind. 

“Yes?”

“Boris,” Theo says awkwardly when he drops from the last step, moving aside to reveal the dark haired man behind him, “Brought us lunch.”

“Boris did?” Hobie asks, immediately dropping what he was doing to assess the man in front of him, “And you must be him.” 

“Ah, yes,” Boris nods, shuffling both bags into one hand so he can reach the other out to shake Hobie’s, “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Hobie nods, shaking Boris’ hand in return though he’s still eyeing him in a funny way. After a beat too long, he clears his throat and says, “Let me make some room for you to set that down.”

~*-*~

“And he was such cute kid, you remember, all dressed up in the Vegas heat, wanting to look proper even though it was one hundred degrees outside-”

“I didn’t have anything else to wear!”

“-he looked like such nerd and you know what? He was, but in a good way, the rest of those kids, they did not even _try_ to understand what Theroux was saying but Theo? Theo understood, I could see it on his face-”

“You were sitting _behind_ me, how could you see it on my face?”

“-and that’s when I decided, him!” Boris finishes loudly, pointing a finger in Theo’s direction, “He is going to be my friend because I cannot stand these other idiots who fight so hard _against_ learning.” 

“Boris, you only went to school everyday because _I_ did,” Theo points out, but he can’t fight the little smile on his face, hearing the way Boris remembers this all from his own crazy point of view. 

“Is not true!” Boris exclaims, waving his hands erratically enough that even Hobie laughs a little, “I also enjoyed the lunches.”

“So you met in school?” Hobie clarifies, picking carefully at the food in front of him, eyeing the way Theo leans just slightly into Boris. 

“Yes, and then we found out we lived next to each other and that Theo had a pool with actual water in it. And Popchyk! My baby,” Boris concludes, brushing his knuckles against the back of Theo’s hand, “Match made in heaven.” 

“I can see that,” Hobie smiles, looking between the two of them for just a moment, before focusing back down at his food, “So school. Did Theo do well there?”

“Ah, well, Vegas schools, they’re no good really, I wouldn’t blame it _all_ on Potter-”

~*-*~

“I get it now,” Hobie says as they’re locking up the shop for the day. 

“Get what?” Theo asks, shaking the door once, twice, three times, just to make sure it’s well and truly locked. 

“You and Boris. I get it,” Hobie nods while Theo fights the blush that is threatening to take over his entire face. 

“We-”

“It’s the way he looks at you, I think,” Hobie starts, “Like you’re made of sunshine. Or no, maybe it’s the way you look when you’re around him. The way you act.” 

“The way I act?”

“Like you’re...” Hobie stops, pausing to articulate exactly what he means, “Like you’ve finally made it home.”

~*-*~

There’s a letter waiting for him when he gets home. An invitation really. He opens it up to finds a fancy wedding invitation from Pippa. He didn’t even know she was engaged. Looking at the invite doesn’t leave a jealous sting in him like it might have years ago, no, now he mostly just wants to call and ask why the _hell_ she hadn’t told him before. 

Nestled inside the card is a little RSVP card, giving Theo the option of a plus one to take with him to London. But Theo is positive Hobie got an invitation of his own and he can’t imagine anyone else wanting to fly out with him to London for a _wedding_ so he checks single without too much thought and leaves it on the table, making a mental note to mail it off in the morning. 

He doesn’t think about the note again for the rest of the night. 

~*-*~

Boris is strange in the morning and then still when Theo gets home from work. He still kisses him hello and goodbye but they’re shorter, guarded, almost like he’s holding himself in, keeping all his parts hidden from Theo. 

For a week Boris acts like this, icy and yet not because Boris never talks about anything either, just pretends everything is okay and he’s never been hurt. And Theo, Theo doesn’t know what’s wrong or what’s _right_ for that matter; he doesn’t know how to ask why Boris sleeps firmly on his own side of the bed or hasn’t been brushing the hair out of Theo’s face in the way he usually loves to do. 

And then Theo comes home to find Boris’ bag, the one forgotten in the back of Theo’s closet, sat on the middle of their bed while Boris walks around the apartment.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asks, speaking over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Boris looks up at him like he’s surprised Theo’s noticed which how could Theo _not_ notice, how could he think Theo would just be okay, how could he-

“Just to Antwerp, was thinking all my stuff is there, should probably get it at some point,” he shrugs too casual, like he’s okay with leaving for an unspecified amount of time, like Theo should be okay with it too, “It shouldn’t be too long. Just enough to get my stuff, to think.” 

“To think?” Theo asks because what does Boris need to _think_ about, Theo doesn’t need to think about anything, he wants Boris there, he _wants_ him, there’s no _thinking._

“It’s fine, Potter, do not worry, I’m sure I will be back by the time you get back from London,” Boris says and then he’s out of the room, banging around in the kitchen while Theo sits down to stop himself from hyperventilating. 

His phone rings and if it were anyone but Pippa he’d decline the call but he picks it up on reflex, “Now’s not a good time.” 

“Well you better make time,” she replies, “To tell me what happened with Boris.”

“Boris?” he asks, can feel his heart speed up just at the thought, _he’s leaving, he’s leaving, what if he doesn’t come back, what if he decides to stay-_

“Yes, and why exactly you’re coming alone to my wedding,” Pippa says into the receiver. 

“Boris wouldn’t, Boris wouldn’t want to come to that, Pip, I-” he says but he’s breathing heavy and he doesn’t know if she can understand him and everything feels just a little blurry. 

“Hey, hey, calm down, whatever it is, it’s okay,” Pippa’s voice is gentle now, having caught on to his distress. She listens to him breathe and when it starts to even out she asks, “What happened?”

“He’s leaving,” is all Theo can whisper because none of this makes sense and he just wants Boris to come back and hold him. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, he said, he said he’d be back by the time I got back from London but he said he’d come before and he didn’t and-”

“Is he mad about you coming to London?” she asks but that doesn’t make sense to Theo because why would Boris be mad about something so, so stupid? 

“Why would he be mad about that?”

“I don’t know, did you talk to him about it?”

“No, I-”

“Did he see the invite?”

“Well, I mean, I _guess_ but-”

“Maybe,” Pippa says into the phone, “Maybe he didn’t realize you were single.” 

~*-*~

When Theo gets off the phone, Boris has disappeared from the apartment along with Popchyk leaving Theo to pace and pace and pace in front of the door. How could he be so stupid? He didn’t _mean_ for the RSVP to seem like that, he just didn’t think Boris would want to come and why hadn’t Boris _said_ anything. But Theo knows, if the situation was reversed he wouldn’t have said anything either, would probably try to run just like Boris is now. 

The second Boris walks back inside the apartment Theo is on him, pushing him back against the closed door and kissing him hard, more desperate than he’s ever kissed him before. Boris hesitates for just a second but then his hands find Theo’s hips, squeezing tight through his shirt and pants. 

“What is meaning of this-”

“I didn’t mean it!” Theo shouts, half crazed because he wants Boris to understand, he doesn’t want Boris to be mad at him, he wants Boris to _stay._

“Didn’t mean what?” Boris says, eyeing Theo carefully, guarded, ready to lock himself up if Theo says the wrong thing. 

“With the wedding invite, I didn’t _mean_ I was single, not really, I mean, I don’t know _what_ we are but, I just, I just didn’t think you’d want to go,” Theo explains, rushed, talking more than he ever has before because this is _hard_ for him, opening up, but if it means Boris won’t go he’ll make the effort. 

“She is your family, yes?” Boris asks, one hand reaching up to brush away the hair on Theo’s forehead, “Why would I not want to go?”

“Because it’s a wedding, and they’re _boring,_ and you have business here and-”

“So you think I will not make time for you?” Boris asks and he’s not teasing, or trying to open Theo up more than necessary, he looks at Theo like he just wants to understand his thought process, to see where they went wrong. 

“No, I _know_ you would, I just,” Theo looks down now, shame curling up his spine, “I didn’t think you’d want to come with me and I didn’t want to do anything that might make you want to leave.”

“Ah,” Boris says, his hand moving to curl around the back of Theo’s neck, “Thought you might want some time away from me. Space. Was just trying to give it to you.” 

“I don’t want that!” Theo shouts, sounding frantic even to his own ears. He leans down to rest his forehead against Boris’ and when he speaks again it’s quieter, softer, “I want you to come with me. If you want to come, I want you there.” 

“Then I will be there,” Boris smiles and leans up just enough to press their lips together, soft and reassuring. 

“You know,” Boris starts when he pulls away, “I will need to go to Antwerp eventually to collect my things. But maybe you can come with me. Be like a mini vacation.” 

~*-*~

When they get in bed that night, Theo wraps himself tightly around Boris, head rested on his chest while Boris pets at his hair, fingers running through it again and again all the while mumbling, “It’s okay, _Solnishko,_ I’m not going anywhere.”

This time, Theo believes him.

~*-*~

Things mostly go back to the way they were before except now Theo gets to say things like “Well my boyfriend likes this piece the best” and Boris likes to grab his hand when they’re in public and kiss his knuckles and call him baby when no one is listening. 

When they lay on the couch, Theo doesn’t hesitate to drag Boris closer, to press his lips to Boris’ neck, to fall asleep out there, half in Boris’ lap with a blanket draped haphazardly over the two of them. 

~*-*~

Flying with Boris is awful because he talks to everyone, he’s loud, he takes up his seat and little bit of Theo’s too, demands they share headphones so they can watch the in flight movie together and Theo is so outrageously happy he’s here. 

He grabs onto Boris’ hand and falls asleep on his shoulder and let’s Boris lead him through the airport when they land, greasy and exhausted and right there, with Boris smiling at him and playing with his fingers while they wait in line to get tea, Theo decides he’s never looked more beautiful. 

~*-*~

The wedding is beautiful, but Theo would expect nothing less from Pippa. She’s absolutely glowing as she walks down the aisle, Hobie’s arm interlocked with her own and when all is said and done the reception brings about low lighting and slow songs for her to dance to with her new husband. When the floor is opened up to everyone else, Theo is content to watch and drink and laugh but then there’s Boris, tugging him along in his fancy suit and tie out onto the floor. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” Theo complains, all the while trying to wiggle out of Boris’ grip, but he just tightens his hand and pulls Theo in close. 

“Is slow song, only have to follow my lead,” Boris says and then he’s wrapping his arms around Theo and moving him along to the beat of the song. Boris’ tender gaze never strays from Theo’s face and maybe he’s a little bubbly, happy drunk or maybe it’s the feel of Boris so close surrounded by the soft glow of the lights in the dark room but it all hits him at once. Why he ached for Boris for so long, why he thought about him even in college, why he was so _afraid_ to watch Boris walk away again. 

“Oh,” he says, straightening up a little, smiling when Boris raises a single eyebrow at him, “I’m in love with you.”

“Yes,” Boris nods, but he’s smiling that big smile he only ever does for Theo and he leans forward to press a tender kiss to Theo’s lips, “I love you too. Glad you caught up.”

“Shut up,” Theo snaps, but he can’t stop smiling so he rests their foreheads together, lets his nose run along Boris’ cheekbone and thinks to himself _I love you, I love you, I love you._ The soft smile on Boris’ face lets Theo know he understands this time. 

The music ends long before they stop swaying together but Theo doesn’t care because Hobie was right; this, right here, is where he’s supposed to be.

~*-*~

Little streams of sunlight seep in through the blinds on his windows, setting a glow to Boris’ back, still creamy pale but tinted soft yellow in the light. Theo looks at him and thinks of Bernini, of perfect marble lit up by the sun. He thinks about taking Boris to France, to drag him in front of every rose window just to see the way the stained glass makes kaleidoscope colors of Boris’ skin. Dreams of crowding Boris into the Pantheon and making him stand under the direct stream of light from the dome, just for a moment, just to see the way he lights up so beautifully. 

For now, he strips himself of uncomfortable clothes and climbs into the bed next to Boris, relishing in the way Boris turns towards him in his sleep, lifting an arm instictually to allow Theo to back into his space. He doesn’t have suffocating nightmares like he used to and he slept just fine all those days, months, years without Boris and yet he sleeps best like this; with Boris curled around his back, little breaths coming out in huffs against Theo’s neck. 

Popchyk lays at their feet, snoring soundly and Theo thinks _this,_ this is what he’s been waiting for everyday since the museum. To belong somewhere. To feel at home. He searched in all the wrong places and people, but now, clutched in Boris’ strong arms, feeling his nose nuzzle against the back of his neck, he knows he’s found it. Not in New York or the Barbours or Pippa but in Boris. 

In terrible, determined Boris who loves Theo more than he’s loved anything, loves with a sincerity, a tenderness that makes his heart swell in chest. Maybe they are brought together again and again by their bad choices, maybe it’s fate willing them close and closer still. 

Or maybe, it’s just life. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> it occurred to me that not everyone reads art history textbooks for fun so if you wanna like visualize the art that theo compares boris to here's a little run down: 
> 
> [Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi](https://smarthistory.org/gentileschi-judith-slaying-holofernes/)  
> Chiaroscuro is the dramatic contrast between light and dark in art.  
> [The Calling of Saint Mathew by Michelangelo Merisi de Caravaggio](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Caravaggio%27s_The_Calling_of_St_Matthew.jpg)  
> [Woman Holding a Balance by Johannes Vermeer](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woman_Holding_a_Balance)  
> [The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa by Gian Lorenzo Bernini](https://cdn.theculturetrip.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/5219556739_0fbee25442_b.jpg)  
> [The Rose Window from Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, France](https://www.tripsavvy.com/pictures-and-highlights-from-sainte-chapelle-1618810) and [the visual effect of light flooding through stained glass windows](https://reallybigchurch.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/glover-bay.jpg)  
> [ Light Beam from the Dome of the Pantheon](https://www.danheller.com/images/Europe/Italy/Rome/Buildings/Slideshow/img10.html)
> 
> [talk to me on tumblr!](https://borisnewteeth.tumblr.com)


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